A Sleepy Monday

Just as an FYI, I planned to post a clarification/retraction of some of my statements in my Gay In YA post this morning – but a) I was up until 5:30 last night importing the new Magic set (stupid double-faced cards), and b) when I make an error in terms of how I present an issue so that the essay doesn’t truly reflect where I stand, I’m doubly cautious when it comes to clarifying.  So that’ll be later in the week when I recover.
Also, if I’m going to make one post today, it’s going to be referencing the fact that it’s International Talk Like A Pirate Day – which, to those paying attention, means that it’s my anniversary!  I never really thought I’d be married at all, so to be married for a dozen years is somewhat amazing.
When you’re married and get divorced, you get differing reactions from people based on how long it took you to separate.  If you get divorced in the first year, well, you just didn’t think it through.  Two to five years, and you were too fundamentally incompatible on some level to make it work in the long run – but you gave it a rum go.  Five to ten years, and people chalk it up to the usual combinations of neglect and differing goals.
At twelve years, it amuses me to note that I’m now approaching the stage of marriage where if Gini and I separated – which we’re in zero danger of – the public reaction would be that something had to have happened.  An affair.  An untreated psychosis.  Meteorites. Something.  We’ve been together for long enough that we’ve become an institution, and nothing can derail us but for an external force.
I often refer to Gini as “The best decision I ever made.” She’s the smartest, funniest, and sexiest woman I know.  If I ever give the illusion that I have any wisdom, grace, or charm, understand that a significant portion of that is my wife, quietly bolstering me up behind the scenes.  She’s amazing, she’s led me to a much happier place in life, she bears with me when that black dog depression comes biting, and I literally could not ask for a better partner.
I love you, sweetie. Twelve more YARRRS.